


Summer Fugue

by Firelight_and_Rain



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Cleaning Out my Old Drafts, M/M, Other, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:02:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelight_and_Rain/pseuds/Firelight_and_Rain
Summary: Anders is bored, and it's too hot to sleep.





	Summer Fugue

It was a particularly awful night, and several weeks since the last Incident.

There were benefits to a life that left him dead-tired and Justice fixating on ugly, abstract things, was what he told himself. He was holding onto something for something, a hope that had left him nearly dead, but that hadn’t led him here, had kept him from here. He thought this hope of his was something to save just for him and Hawke, and didn’t think that maybe it was this hope that he’d broken himself on. Was breaking. The past tense belonged to other, worse things.

But the candle guttered low and he still had too much energy, and everything was the kind of sharp that could have been that energy, coupled with his optimism (guttering but alive) about his role in Kirkwall, but that he knew was Justice below the surface - not pulling or clawing, pushing gently with the kind of curiosity that veritably broke Anders’ heart.

There weren’t easy words for this kind of mood, but I’m lonely or we’re here (Fade and time - funny concept) or, maybe, Let me help. Would have been wishful thinking but Justice paid attention to that last. Always had, since sharing headspace meant no deflecting words around the offer. Or the request. Both. Anders could forgive them some things because a blind man could see that this was a two-way street.

Summer in Kirkwall was choking hot. The blanket was thin, more the suggestion of the weight of sleep than a comfort. The fabric weighed down on him - them - with rough-woven light muggy hands. Hawke’s smile hung in the air of the room, a rare thing to keep, and he let it go from his mind under Justice’s presence - rare that the spirit was awake and not pushing.

Would that they were two people again, Anders thought, so that the sense of being watched wasn’t so hard to pin down - but Justice doing it did not feel like a stranger watching the mage, the serpent, for any wrongdoing. Anders looked about the room briefly anyway, but closed his eyes and let the close darkness fall again.

One of the problems with the Incidents, with much of the good of them being in his head (well, the mechanics were still very nice, but he’d had magic hands for a long time before meeting Justice, thanks) was that humans were so very visual. If anyone were to be accused of an attraction to the grotesque, it wouldn’t be amiss aimed at him, but he’d never gone quite that far. Their reflection in a mirror was one of the only things he thought he’d ever given or would give the spirit, but it stuck, despite - or because of - his fears. It wasn’t a bad reflection. Though the image wasn’t clear as a person-met-in-the-waking-world. At least, though it was just an incidental thing, Justice didn’t need him to shape him any more than he already had.

Anders imagined the source of that gaze leaning over him, hands to either side of his shoulders and knees to either side of his, breath close over his face like the tiny breezes in the muggy room.

Justice pressed against his mind and then there was a coolness and a feeling like fingernails soft against the inside of his wrist and lights broke through his skin with an unnameable sensation that made him draw in a shuddering breath.

With a soft smile he set his hand on his chest, fingers curling into the neckline of his shirt, and the foggy sensation overcame his hand. Far different from the black-out, cold-water-shock that came with any of their usual transitions. From having no time or way to ask, to answer, for the liberties they took with each other.

The hand - Justice’s hand - rested for a moment at the divot of his neck, and Anders could dimly feel the thrum of his pulse. The spirit closed his hand gently around his vessel’s throat for a moment, just enough for Anders to feel his pulse again, before trailing up towards his jaw, pressing against the soft skin with his (the spirit’s) thumb and luxuriating in the feel of it before pressing to the spot behind his jaw and then resting his fingers across Anders’ mouth. Anders kissed at the fingers - they hummed with the tingling, cool-warm sensation that the Fade brought, especially for a mage. Justice traced the outline of his mouth, gently pinched and tugged at his bottom lip, and Anders opened his mouth, licking at Justice’s fingers, tasting salt, knowing his hypersensitivity to touch like this - a damned miracle, really, his eager reactivity to it, considering the physical pain and attacks that the world had subjected him too. The fingers slipped into his mouth and rested on his tongue.

Anders closed his lips around Justice’s hand, rubbing his tongue under the fingers, the pads and the tips. Justice pushed gently into his mouth, curling down onto his tongue. He repeated the motion - three fingers, thumb hooked possessively (ha) under his jaw - and Anders sucked, silent, slick, lips red and rounding, Justice’s hand getting wet until he bored of it and made a quiet noise of objection. He was keenly aware of all the sensation on his skin (air and cloth and Fade spirit), nerves awake to it however slight. Justice removed his hand, traced his lips and, wasting no time, traced a line down his throat to under the loose shirt he wore and pushed at a nipple. “Forward,” Anders laughed, ending the word with a quiet, slightly breathless groan. Justice kept it up, pressing and rubbing in warm, moist circles while Anders worried at his lip and arched under the aching tow of lust, the unbearable pleasant fog of instinct that was nothing like the idle interest of earlier. His other hand, under his own control, had gone down his taut stomach to card through the hair trailing down to his cock, eagerly following the line of it. Justice took gentle control of his hand right before it reached his cock.

"Justice!" Anders whined in frustration. Justice's left hand had stilled and gone back to tracing intent little circles on the barest softness of Anders' belly. Intent was the right word - gone without a body for so long, and still he was quite clever with one, worryingly delightfully clever. Though Anders might have provided the blueprints and misplaced the boundaries. Justice was giving him time - as he'd quickly learned to - to decline with his voice, which he didn't, though the spirit was in his mind and maybe that wasn't strictly speaking a necessity.

When he didn't and stayed still in tense anticipation, Justice tugged at the bottom of his loose bunched-up shirt. Anders laughed and sat up and there was a brief yielding struggle as they attempted to coordinate removing the shirt. They succeeded, but Anders suspected that the spirit was self-conscious, but anyway it didn't matter as Justice had gotten definitively and happily distracted by the sensations under his hands, not least of all Anders' skin.

Justice brought his left hand up to his mouth and let him suck at his fingers - more briefly this time - and brought it down to his nipples, and his throat, and the insides of his thighs, and Anders whined - practically a silent sob - and dug his heels into the cot and canted his hips upward greedily, though it didn't help the heat and ache much. The loose fabric of the blanket only functioned as a tease. 

Anders was enjoying the sensation of having his hands controlled. Though he knew exactly what he'd do with them if he had them. Not the same as having his wrists clamped and pinned in a strong pair of hands or bound by rope, but this had the advantage of still having two attentive hands on the rest of him, and it was decidedly control.

And Justice was gentle, curious, and there was no yield unless Anders fought for it - no space, no hesitation, little point to anticipation. This, this could get addictive. It wasn't a refuge he'd chosen. But it was good, it was just to give freely when they could, and it felt good to prove they could still trust each other. In some ways. In some situations. A little coal of heat Anders would willingly curl up around even to the point of smothering - he had nothing else. And Justice cared if he said yes or no, for whichever of their sakes, and he'd said yes to Anders, back when he'd walked on his own, which still seemed impossible that he would have said yes. Different as it had necessarily been. But the trust and ownership-that-was-not was still recognizable.

Anders was jolted out of his haze of introspection and pleasure when Justice wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock. He swore quietly but vividly and tried to grind up. Justice refused to play along.

"Alright, you win. Now please, please move."

Justice placed his other hand over the head of Anders' cock and stroked down, a little rough, still intent. Anders was still mostly quiet, swallowing down any noises he'd make, even as his breathing was much heavier. By privilege of having access to all Anders' practical knowledge if he bothered, Justice wasn't half bad at this. Anders spread his legs farther and half propped himself up on the wall, stomach bending and tensing trembling and smooth, drawing his sticky bottom lip into his mouth, and swallowing quiet drawn-out moans and gasps as he watched Justice work.

As the tension built Justice kept up his maddeningly steady pace, paying particular attention to the veins under his cock. Anders closed his eyes - at some point Justice could tell how very close his vessel was getting, sweat and gasps, and dropped his left hand down to roll his balls gently and stroke along back to the curve of his ass while he quickened his pace. Anders was torn between grinding down or thrusting up, thoroughly enjoying himself despite the strain along his shoulders.

Justice thumbed along the slit and Anders came with a shout.

Aftershocks like little cool blue electric shocks, the strict control shattering for a moment - Justice breathing through their lungs while, for a moment, Anders stilled their shaking hands. Anders laughed silently at his companion's stunned pleasure and might have been self-conscious for a moment - as irrational as that was in wild, claustrophobic Darktown - if he hadn't been buoyed along on Justice's smug accomplishment and wondering bafflement.

Thank you, he tried to ... feel at his companion as the spirit sunk down, still present but subsurface. Though he was willing to, he wasn't used to talking out loud without other bodies in the room and not just talking to himself. On his good days he preferred not to, silly pantomime that Justice deserved more than regardless.

And if you don't mind …

He licked his hand clean with a pleased hum. It was maybe a record to be familiar enough with the Fade to know its taste. Certainly for a Circle mage.

He drew the blanket around them, and didn't think it so bad for a little bit, warmed by sex (if it had technically been - he wasn't going to think about it too hard) and company and an odd sense of accomplishment from both of them, the blanket and his own warmth and soreness keenly clear as Justice was still in his way taking his liberty to poke at the material world (not, of course, distracting in the way they had been), drowsy host or not, and Anders would soon fall into a short but deep night's sleep in a room that was darker after Justice's glow had faded, but still blessedly crowded.


End file.
